


Lost Childhood

by Calico_Cat_TIVA_Fan



Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 03:16:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20037013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calico_Cat_TIVA_Fan/pseuds/Calico_Cat_TIVA_Fan
Summary: Tali finds a journal of her Ima's elementary school years. Part of the "You Complete Me" universe.





	Lost Childhood

Lost Childhood

Ziva's journal of her elementary school years hides memories, good and bad. May 2067

Tali opened the folder on her Ima's computer; the cryptic name, "AZT_R1," giving no clue as to the contents of the file. She assumed it was another journal, since it was in the folder of journals. When she started reading the first file in the folder, she was immediately engrossed. This was the missing story of Ima's childhood!

On my first day of school, I was moved from one classroom to another three times. The first group of students where I was placed were my age. All of them were just learning their aleph-bets. When I picked up a picture book and read the entire text to a classmate, the teachers immediately pulled me aside.

"You can read?" they asked me.

"Yes, Hebrew, English, and Spanish," I informed them. "I can also speak French, German, and Italian."

"We will need to have you go to the office, then. You do not belong in this class." I was led to the main office and told to sit while a conference about me was held in the headmaster's office. They thought that I could not hear them, but I heard every word.

"She does not belong here."

"She is beyond what we can offer her."

"What will we do with her?"

At the tender age of five, I was being told yet again that I did not belong, that I was different from my peers. It had never occurred to me that children my age could not read and speak other languages. I was surprised to learn that many of the others my age could not do arithmetic.

The second classroom where I was placed had mostly seven and eight year olds. They were completing an arithmetic lesson when I was brought in. The adult who took me to the room informed the teacher that this was a temporary placement as the school was still trying to figure out how to fit me into their system.

"But she is so much younger than the others," the teacher protested.

"She is academically advanced," the woman who accompanied me explained.

"I can read!" I offered. "I can also do arithmetic and speak six languages."

I was handed the arithmetic worksheet that the others were completing and pointed in the direction of an empty seat near the back corner of the classroom. I sat where I was told, picked up the pencil that was lying on the table and completed the assignment in fifteen minutes. The addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division problems were too easy!

I looked around for the teacher to let her know that I had completed the work and noticed that the other students were still working. The teacher noticed me looking around and came over. I think she hoped that I was having difficulty with the assignment so that she could be rid of me.

"I have finished; do you have any harder work?" I handed her the paper. She looked over my work and paled.

"You will have to be moved from this class; you do not belong here!" she said with a frown. I thought that I had done something wrong and immediately tried to apologize.

Yet again, I was led to the main office and another conversation about what to do with me was held. This time, I was in the room as the adults conferred and they talked about me not caring that I heard every word.

"We must figure this out today or her father will be angry."

"She does not belong here!"

I was led to a third classroom, this one having mostly nine and ten year olds. As before, the adults conferred as though I could not hear every word. The classroom teacher was worried that the older kids would tease me; the other adults were just trying to find a suitable placement and be rid of the problem of me. I wandered over to the bookshelf that was in the classroom as they discussed what to do with me.

I found a book in English, "The Little Prince," and its title intrigued me. I pulled the book from the shelf and sat in a bean bag chair next to the book shelf and began reading. The next thing I knew, I was turning the final page as the bell rang for the class to go to lunch and recess. I had become engrossed in the story; it was beautiful!

As the class lined up to move to the lunch room, I asked the teacher if she had more books that were similar.

"You read that book? In English?"

"Yes, ma'am. I can tell you a summary of the story, if you'd like," I was ready to prove that I had indeed read the entire book. Giving summaries of things that I read was part of the training that my father required Ari and me to practice daily.

"No, that will not be necessary. Come along; you must eat lunch and then go play at recess.'

I followed the class to the lunch room. After getting my tray of food, I looked for a place to sit. None of the older children from my most recent classroom would allow me to sit with them. I finally sat next to a neighbor boy, Schmuel Rubenstein. He looked up as I sat down and then looked back at his food. He mostly ignored me as I ate.

Another bell rang, and we were led outside. I was unsure of what I was supposed to do so I asked one of the adults where the training area was.

"This is a playground. You PLAY here during recess," she told me incredulously. "Go play, child."

I watched the other children for a while as they ran and played. The swings fascinated me. I moved near the swing set, hoping to find an empty swing. I watched the others as they moved the swings higher. When I spied an empty swing, I ran to it and pushed my feet along the ground to get myself moving. I swung my feet and pulled the chains with my arms and swung higher. I tilted my head back and looked up at the sky.

I felt free as the clouds and blue skies above me. For the first time since the school day began, I felt that I belonged here. That marked the beginning of my obsession with the swings.

Tali read to the end of the section. For the first time, she understood why her Ima had always felt that she did not belong. The first day of five year old Ziva's schooling had just reinforced that feeling. She could tell that the sections of memories would unveil much about her Ima that had only been hinted at in family stories and memories.

She opened to the next file and continued reading.

By the time I was eight, I had the freedom to do as I pleased in the classroom as long as I was learning and doing educational activity that could be reported to my father as progress. The teachers feared the wrath of my father. I just wanted him to see that I existed and to acknowledge me. I attended the school on week days and trained when I was not in school. Every accomplishment earned a special meal from Ima, but only a 'try harder' from my father. Ari told me that I should not expect any praise from my father; he just would not give it.

In my English language learning class, we had a word search activity. The directions were to find the 'hidden words' in the grid of letters. It was fun as I found the words, in all sorts of patterns. Some were in zig-zag patterns in the letters, but I found them all quickly. When I handed my paper to the teacher, she looked at my work. Then she held it up for the class and said that I did not do the assignment correctly. She showed the other students my found words, and pointed to those that snaked over the letters. The others laughed and one boy commented, 'She's not so smart; she cannot even do a word search puzzle correctly!' I asked why my answers were incorrect. The teacher explained that the words had to be in a straight line. I protested vehemently. 'Nowhere does it say to find the words in a LINEAR pattern!' My protests landed me in the headmaster's office yet again. I was admonished for failure to follow directions and disrespecting the teacher. I pointed out their incorrect assumptions and was promptly put on suspension for a week. My father was not pleased.

At the school, I read every book I could get my hands on. I worked math problems, studied advanced mathematics topics, learned to read and write fluently in the six languages that I already knew and started the study of the Russian language. I also began learning Arabic, mostly from Ari and his friends. My father pushed me to excel in the languages, telling me that being versed in so many different tongues would make me a valuable asset for Mossad.

I wanted to know what would make me have value in his eyes, but I buried the hurt each time he failed to recognize my achievements. I learned to hide any emotion; for as my father said, emotion is a sign of weakness.

My one guilty pleasure was the swings at the school. At recess time, I would head directly for the swings, using my running skills to beat out the others for one of the precious slats of plastic. I would pump the swing high, and lean back allowing the wind to blow my hair. I would watch the sky and clouds as I moved back and forth, dreaming that I was like the free bird who soared above all. When I learned about the American bald eagle's trait to soar above a storm, I wanted to be an eagle. The eagle became my fantasy when I rode the swing.

Schmuel Rubenstein had the nerve to tell me that he liked me one day in class. He was a bit of a tease and also somewhat dull in thinking. I compared him to the memory of Tony from when I was three. No boy could ever measure up to the American boy who had come into my life unexpectedly but stayed in my mind and my heart for the rest of my days. Schmuel Rubenstein was no Tony DiNozzo. I waited outside the door at recess until he came out of the building. I told him to take it back or I would fight him. He refused, saying again that he liked me. With one punch, I knocked him out cold, and unfortunately, ended my freedom at recess for the rest of my days at that school.

I missed the swings. I would sneak outside when the rest of my class was eating lunch and swing until someone caught me. I did not care that I got into trouble; it was worth the punishment to ride the swings again. I was free when I was swinging high and in my mind I was soaring in the sky among the clouds.

Three weeks after I knocked him out, Schmuel Rubenstein was killed in a shooting in the marketplace. I asked Ima why people had to die senseless deaths and she did not know any answer to satisfy me. 'Zivaleh, these things happen. It is the way of life for our people.'

Tali finished reading the section and looked away from the computer. She wiped a tear from her face. The realization that her Ima had never really had a childhood dawned on her. No wonder Ima had said very little about it; she didn't have a childhood to tell about!

The last file described Ima's final year at the school. Tali hesitated before she started reading; the history of Ima's school days and what should have been her childhood years was intense reading. Ima's world as a child had been so different from what Tali and her siblings had. No wonder Ima and Abba had been so protective of them!

My final year at the elementary school was a year that I would rather forget. By the time the school year started, Ima and Abba had separated. We rarely saw Abba; our house was happier for that, but at the same time also sadder. My parents had fought constantly before Abba left. They tried to keep us from hearing their arguments, but it often did not work. Once Ima found out about the other women, the shouting escalated. I was eleven at the time he moved out and twelve when their divorce was finalized. Instead of my bat mitzvah, I sat with Doda Nettie waiting for my Ima to come out of the lawyer's office. I had been suspended from school for a week for fighting. It was justified in my eyes as two boys my age had chosen to harass and pick on Tali and two of her friends. I waited until after the dismissal bell rang for the day and took them on as they walked out of the school building. Despite their bravado with bullying the younger children, they really were weak and cowardly. I had them both down and crying for surrender within ten minutes. Had two of the teachers not pulled me off the larger of the two, I would have made sure he did not bully anyone else. I had my knife at his throat.

After that incident, the other students pretty much steered clear of me. "That crazy David girl" they called me. I did not care. They left me alone and that was all that I wanted from them. Sweet Tali tried to get me to make friends; she did not understand that having a friend left you open to hurt. Abba said that emotions made you weak, so I swore that I would avoid emotions. I trained with Ari when he was able to make time. When he left for IDF training, I continued training on my own. When Abba would take us for a meal every other week, I would try to tell him about my training. He pretended to listen, nodding his head every so often, but I could tell he did not pay attention to anything I said. He did listen when Tali sang one of her songs for him.

Abba called Ari his heir, the son of his loins. Tali was Abba's little tzipporah, his song bird. And I, Ziva, was just another soldier in his ever growing army of followers. 'Ziva, one day you will be my pointy end of the spear, a great asset to Mossad.' That was the closest thing to praise I ever heard from my father as a child. I see now that he used both Ari and me to further his own ambitions, and we, as starved as we were for a father's love, followed him blindly, thinking that was how we could earn his love and attention. Tali, our free spirit, never allowed him to break her will, to manipulate her to his will, nor succumb to the pressures of being a child of the 'great' Eli David.

I have very few memories of actually being a child, innocent and carefree. My childhood ended at the age of five, when my father became my trainer, molding me to his vision of a perfect warrior for HIS cause. One of my only escapes during my elementary school years was the swings. I would sneak into the school yard after hours, on weekends, and on school holidays and ride the swings until I was caught or until it was so dark that I had to go home. I was free as long as I was swinging back and forth, looking at the sky and clouds, and dreaming of being an eagle who soared to magnificent heights.

My other escape was the memory of Tony DiNozzo. The day spent on the beach in Haifa when I was three became an escape from reality. I would picture him with an older me, holding my hand, running free on the beaches of Haifa, playing in the water. As I got older, I would picture him rescuing me from my life and sweeping me off to America; my knight in shining armor. Even at a young age, I had felt the connection of the souls with the American boy; a lifeline that I did not know at the time that I would eventually need to save my life, my soul, my very existence.

Tali wiped the tears from her face. Ima really had been saved from the world of her upbringing by Abba. They weren't joking when they said that their love saved them both. The more she thought about her parents, the more she realized just how much of a miracle it had been that they had not only crossed paths but also became each other's everything. Ima and Abba had a soul connection that spanned the ages; they were destined to be together, to complete the other in multiple ways, to save the other, and to become inseparable.


End file.
